


Song of Parting

by equivalent_exchange



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27816079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/equivalent_exchange/pseuds/equivalent_exchange
Summary: Din slumps further down in his seat as he’s pulled into unconsciousness, and he still can’t help but count the time remaining before they hit planet side.Five hours.Five more hours, and they can eat real food.Five more hours, and maybe they can sleep in a real bed.Five more hours, and he can see her again.
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Din Djarin, Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Din Djarin & Cara Dune, Din Djarin & Cara Dune, Din Djarin/Cara Dune
Comments: 16
Kudos: 127





	1. Remnants

**Author's Note:**

> So...um, I'm back? Again? Sort of.
> 
> As with many of you fellow shippers, Chapter 12 left me a bit unfulfilled, and I was sad that we didn't get to see any characterization or meaningful interactions between Din and Cara (and even Greef), so this little fic is my answer to that.
> 
> I guess you can say I'm sort of rewriting the entire episode and filling in some spots...
> 
> Fic and chapter titles are from the Fullmetal Alchemist soundtrack: ["Wakare no Kyoku"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uLnA2zlvErM) or "Song of Parting"
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

Climbing up the ladder while cradling the kid in one arm is second nature to him now, and Din is having a slightly difficult time remembering what his life was before his foundling became the center of his galaxy.

All the people he’s met since then, all the trouble they’ve gotten into, as hectic and detrimental to his peace of mind as they’ve been, Din can’t deny that this child brings out the best in him. This creature has given Din a purpose, a reason, and now that they know the location of a Jedi, the reality of his predicament is beginning to rear its head.

That Din may have to part ways with his son.

That if for the betterment and safety of this child, Din will have to say goodbye and leave him in the Jedi’s hands to be with those he belongs with.

It scares him that he doesn’t know what he would do afterwards, should it happen.

Even now, he still isn’t sure about Bo-Katan and the other Mandalorians. But it’s the only lead they’ve got, and they have to see it through.

Din didn’t think finding other Mandalorians could shake him to his core this severely. That these Mandalorians are allowed to remove their helmets, when The Way he’s known for nearly his whole life tells him otherwise?

 _“A Child of the Watch_ ,” they called him, as if it was the answer to all their questions, as if those five words told them everything they needed to know about him.

But the idea eats away at him like a parasite.

What if everything he’s known, his entire way of life, has all been a lie?

With a muted sigh, he pushes the thought aside as they make their way into the cockpit. Placing the dozing baby into his chair and securing the straps, the Mandalorian takes the helm of the Razor Crest and keys in a transmission request to Nevarro. He doesn’t know how much longer the ship can last in this poor condition, and frankly, he’s afraid to find out. The familiar planet he once called home is only one more jump away, and they should have just enough fuel to limp the rest of the flight.

Hopefully. If they don’t break apart into a million pieces of scrap metal jumping in and out of hyperspace, that is.

Crossing his arms and settling back, Din wonders how much has changed there, the town, the people – Greef and Cara. He hasn’t spoken to them in weeks, since long before Tatooine, and even then, their messages were brief. The last time he spoke with either of them, Cara had left a holo that the sewers were now a hiding place to black market dealers and scum, and nearly all traces of the Armorer and Covert were gone except the forge.

And with the Armorer gone, they’re the only ties he has left, everyone else either dead or in the wind, same as him.

Suddenly, there’s a beep from the console and then a man’s booming voice fills the cockpit, and Din laughs to himself as Greef Karga’s image comes to life.

“Mando! My friend, it’s been too long! To what do I owe the pleasure?” the Magistrate’s beaming face asks in greeting.

“I’m in the next parsec over, and I need a place to lay low while I repair my ship. Think you can help me out?”

“For you? Of course! Think nothing of it, you and the little one are always welcome here, and speaking of, where is the bugger?” Greef asks enthusiastically, peering to Din’s sides in search of the baby with a grin.

Looking over his shoulder, Din finds his son asleep in his seat, tiny head leaning back and curling in on himself.

Turning to his friend, the Mandalorian tells him, “Sorry, it’s nap time apparently. Things have been a bit rough for us these past few weeks, but I’ll tell him you said ‘Hi’, though.”

“Well, a growing boy needs all his rest, so I’ll let it slide this time. When can we expect you, and will you be bringing trouble?”

“No, I don’t have anyone on my tail, but trouble usually finds me regardless,” Din jokes. “Anyways, we should be about…” he pauses, mentally calculating the fuel and plotting the course in the nav, “five hours away, give or take.”

“Five hours, so that clocks you in just a little before sunset. Got it. Cara is out in the field right now, but she should be back in time and we’ll both meet you outside of the town gate. Sound good?”

“Sounds good. Thanks, I owe you.”

“Anytime, see you soon. Safe flying, my friend!”

With a nod, Din ends the transmission and takes one more look to his son as he sets the nav and prepares for the jump.

The Mandalorian carefully pushes the lever and hears the grinding screech of the hull and sputtering engines, then in the blink of an eye, they’re thankfully launched into a tunnel of white and blue streaks. He lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, and Din’s exhaustion washes over him in waves.

He closes his eyes and rests his head back on the chair, the ache in his empty stomach and tired eyes are becoming too strong to ignore now. They’re nearly out of food and rationing anything solid to keep the baby fed is taking its toll. His body craves for something, anything other than more soup, but what option does he have? A decent meal for himself or repairs and fuel for the ship?

It isn’t even a choice, not in the slightest.

Din slumps further down in his seat as he’s pulled into unconsciousness, and he still can’t help but count the time remaining before they hit planet side.

_Five hours._

Five more hours, and they can eat real food.

Five more hours, and maybe they can sleep in a real bed.

Five more hours, and he can see _her_ again.

With the hum of the engines and soft snores from his son behind him, the Mandalorian finally drifts off into slumber, and in his dream, Cara’s warm and smiling face greets him beneath the shade of a familiar tree.

\----

It’s nearly nightfall, and the normally gray skies are fading to hues of red and orange with the setting sun as the townsfolk slowly fill the streets.

Walking into _this_ town is a new experience, and Din can honestly say that he was never expecting there to be such an overwhelming feeling of community and togetherness amongst its citizens.

Scanning the growing clusters of people, the Mandalorian’s shoulders relax as they’re met with nothing but smiles and polite nods instead of the scathing, envious eyes of fellow bounty hunters.

The uneasiness and tension coiled within Din’s stomach when they first pasted through the town gates has eased somewhat.

Greef is still doting on the baby, the Guild leader speaking to him in funny voices and making faces as they walk through city, and to Din’s relief, the little one is talking back, conversing with the man in a series of coos and squeaks that delight the two to no end.

To his left, Cara walks beside him, full of the smug and confidence he’s grown so fond of, and he can’t stop himself from stealing a glance at her every few steps as they trail after Greef.

There’s so much he wants to say to her, but each time he tries to string together a thought or sentence, his mouth goes dry when he finds her grinning back at him with a twinkle in her eye that warms his cheeks beneath the helmet.

It’s when she nudges Din with her elbow, a few sharp pokes in his side, does he finally break the ice between them with a shake of his head.

“You’re impossible, Dune,” he laughs.

“And there it is! It’s good to see you too, Mando,” the trooper teases.

Din’s chest is still shaking when he whispers softly, “It’s good to see you, Cara. You have no idea...”

\----

It’s a warm night, the sun having set some time ago, and the city’s main street is decorated in an assortment of shimmering lights and banners, and Din doesn’t think he’s seen this place look so warm and welcoming in all his years living here.

“Slow down, you’ll make yourself sick,” Din warns as the ravenous baby devours his dinner with gusto, spilling bits of food onto the table.

An overfilled metal spoon is halfway to his open mouth when the Child slowly looks up at his father, tilting his head to one side as if thinking, and then carefully leans back in his highchair. He blinks contemplatively at the chunks of meat and grain sitting in the bowl, to Cara and Greef, then back to Din. With what they can only interpret as slight embarrassment, the little one sheepishly continues eating, adopting a slower pace.

The Mandalorian nods his approval, “Good. Mind your manners and be respectful of your food.”

Greef and Cara have already finished their meals, their empty dishware stacked neatly to the side of the table while they sip their drinks, nibble on the plate of cookies, and explain how they’ve practically rebuilt Nevarro from the bottom up in just a few short months.

The adults enjoy light conversation amongst the hustle and bustle of the town square – families browsing the stalls lining the streets, the smell of hot food filling the air, and even faint music from a street performer.

If he had known this is what Nevarro is like nowadays, they would’ve come back a lot sooner.

Din notices a gathering crowd of children at Kuiil and IG-11’s monument, mostly smaller kids about to begin some sort of game with a tattered but well-loved bouncing ball. Their growing voices suddenly fall silent when they look to the Mandalorian’s table, and one of the kids points in his direction, then the baby to his side with a giggle.

The braver of the bunch nervously bounds up to their table, a little girl of maybe four or five years old with short dark hair in a headband and a gap where her front tooth used to be. She waves at Cara with a reverent muttering of “Hi, Marshal.”

Cara huffs a tiny laugh, and Din notes that the ex-trooper is blushing, if from her title or the starstruck look in the young girl’s face, he isn’t sure, but the color tinting Cara’s cheeks makes him feel as if his stomach is doing somersaults.

The Marshal composes herself enough to greet the girl and waves back, “Hey, there. What can we do for you?”

Now it’s the little girl who’s flushed as her eyes anxiously dart back and forth between the adults and the green baby.

“Umm, we-we were wondering if he wants to play with us? Or she? Is it a boy or a girl?” she mumbles, her hands fisting apprehensively in her dress.

Before Din can get a word in, Greef happily chimes in, “This little guy? Well I think that’s a wonderful idea! How about you, Mando?”

All eyes turn to the silver helmet, and his audible sigh is a surprise to no one when he turns to his son, “Sure, why not. What do you say, kid?” Din asks, swiping cookie crumbs from the baby’s jacket, “You want to go play ball with them?”

Long ears perk up instantly, and the Child coos excitedly as he climbs down from his highchair, cookie in hand. When his tiny feet hit the ground, he quickly waddles to the little girl giggling at the adorable creature. Holding her hand out to him, the baby reaches out, and together they make their way towards the center of the circle the other children are eagerly forming so they can begin their game.

Back at the table, Din watches as the kids kick the ball back and forth, passing it quickly to someone else forming the circle while the ones in the center try to catch it. It’s a simple enough game, and it seems the little one is enjoying himself, chasing after the ball as it zooms past him. It’s unlikely he’s fast enough to grab hold of it, but that doesn’t faze him in the slightest.

Seeing the kid have fun like this stirs something within Din’s chest, and he can’t quite name the feeling. With all that they’ve been through these past few months, this place seems almost too good to be true.

It reminds him of Sorgan, of how they were able to have a slice of sanctuary before shit hit the fan, and Din thinks that maybe Nevarro will be different… somehow.

A few muted beeps sound from Greef’s direction, and the magistrate groans his annoyance as he retrieves his datapad and scrolls through its contents.

“Mando, I’m sorry friend, but work calls and I must take my leave,” he apologizes. Reaching into his pocket, the older man pulls out a small pile of credits and places them on the table. “This should cover dinner. Mando, I know you won’t eat here, so order whatever you like, on me, and maybe some snacks for the little one to take for the night? If you need any supplies for your journey from the markets, just tell them I sent you, I’ve got you covered.”

Nodding, Din reaches for a menu, enters his order, then looks to his friend, “Thank you. This is already more than I hoped for.”

“Ahh think nothing of it. For what you two have done for us, this town, this is the least I can do. Besides, I’m still hoping that you’ll reconsider and join our ranks as my top hunter again.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for when I’m low on credits. Which happens more often than I’d like, unfortunately,” Din laughs.

Shaking his head, Greef offers the Mandalorian, “In that case, if you’re ever in need, just give our dear Marshal and me a shout, and we’ll see what we can do.”

Scooting his chair back, Greef stands with Din rising from his own chair a moment after. Clasping forearms once more, the two men bid their farewells for the night, and with a salute to Cara, Greef makes his exit.

Taking his seat once more, the Mandalorian lets out a deep exhale, and he feels his entire body slump under the weight of his hunger. He still hasn’t eaten since his meager meal back in hyperspace, and while the kid is fed and happy, it’ll be some time before Din can say the same. There’s so much he needs to do – restock on food, ammunition, medical supplies, and maybe a hover carrier for the kid if there’s one around here.

It’s still a long way to Corvus, and he wouldn’t be surprised if they somehow get sidetracked along the way again.

Cara’s voice brings him back to the present, and he finds the Marshal resting her chin in one hand, elbow propped on the table with a knowing look in her eyes.

He almost forgot how piercing her stare can be when she wanted, how even if she doesn’t know it, when focusing solely on him, everything else around them fades away.

“You look like you a tauntaun’s leftovers. Well… maybe a little bit cleaner, but ragged all the same,” she jokes with a shrug of her shoulders.

Din couldn’t stop his face from breaking into a smile, not even if he tried.

The silver helmet tilts ever so slightly, teasing her, “Oh, really? And here I thought you’d be impressed; I polished my armor and everything.”

Scoffing, Cara fires back, “Takes more than that to impress _me_ , Djarin.”

“Trust me, I remember,” he laughs.

Leaning back in his chair, Din rests an arm on the table and flexes his fingers, curling and uncurling the digits, a nervous habit he never outgrew from when he was a boy. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cara shifting in her seat, then they’re both watching the Child play with his new friends while she hums a familiar calming tune under her breath.

That feeling in his stomach is back, of warmth and somersaults, and it’s as if they’re back on Sorgan.

After their spars out in the fields, they’d return to the barn, both sore and caked in mud. They’d unwind at the wooden crate doubling as their table on the porch, Din ritually cleaning his blasters while Cara indulged in her post-spar snack or drink. The villagers were kind enough to watch the kid, they insisted on it, which gave Din extra time throughout the day to work out some pent-up energy with Cara or clear his mind on his own.

It was… nice.

He didn’t expect for things to happen the way they did, living a quiet life with the kid on that backwater skughole, but he never could’ve expected _her._ To find someone else looking to disappear, someone on the run with no clear destination. In Cara, he found someone he respected, a fellow combatant and warrior, an equal, a confidant, and more importantly - a _friend._

Din is sucked out of his reverie with a gasp. One of the kids kicks a bit too hard, and it’s as if he’s watching in slow motion – the tattered ball colliding with his son, the force knocking him backwards and making him tumble in the dirt. From the short distance, the Mandalorian can hear the baby’s cry, and it stops his heart.

Jumping out of his chair, the worried father is about to run over and help his foundling when Cara’s hand darts out and stops him.

“What are you doing?! He’s hurt!” Din barks, his tone harsher than intended, and he cringes beneath his helmet.

Unfazed, Cara just tightens her grip, “Just hold on for a second. See, he looks ok,” she points out, nodding at the toddler.

They watch as the boy slowly rises to his feet and Din’s breath is still caught in his throat as the little one blinks away the momentary confusion. Then he coughs and sneezes at the small dust cloud he managed to create in his topple, easing the tension engulfing the Mandalorian. With a shake of his head, the kid’s running after the ball again, the other children trailing behind their miniscule green guest.

Din visibly deflates at the chorus of laughter sounding from the group, and the fleeting rush of adrenaline surging through his body is gone just as quickly as it came.

Sinking into seat, he looks to Cara regretfully, “I’m… sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. Things haven’t been the easiest lately, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

She smiles at him so tenderly, lips curving gently, showing the tiniest hint of her dimples, and Din is lost in her again.

“Apology accepted, big guy.”

Cara hasn’t let go of his hand, the tough fabric of her glove still gripping his worn leather, and she doesn’t how much this means to him. His life feels like it’s on the brink of imploding, and this, just _this_ – his hand in hers – is keeping him from falling into a tailspin.

Din’s breath stutters, and he squeezes back.


	2. Tenderness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From what he remembers, back on Sorgan, and the brief time she was on the Crest, she never had much in the way of material possessions. Everything she owned was either strapped to her person or stuffed in a pack, enough for the life of a drifter constantly on the move with little to lose. It made sense and it worked for her, fleeting acquaintances and backwater towns, nothing to tie her down and nobody waiting up for her.
> 
> And then they met, and things started changing, they started changing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure what happened, but I was randomly bit by the inspiration bug, and now I'm infected. It seems in my delirium I've managed to write an entire chapter faster than I have in months. Hopefully I've still got the stuff...
> 
> This chapter is very introspective with some feels. Some character development, if you will?

The doors to Cara’s apartment close behind them with a muted hiss, and Din hesitantly walks further into her living space, his boots silent on the tile floor with bags slung over his shoulders and arms filled with supplies.

He carefully takes it all in, it’s not a huge apartment by any means, but he plainly sees that Cara has made herself comfortable here. There aren’t any decorations on the wall he notices, but the rest of the space is distinctly _her_.

From what he remembers, back on Sorgan, and the brief time she was on the Crest, she never had much in the way of material possessions. Everything she owned was either strapped to her person or stuffed in a pack, enough for the life of a drifter constantly on the move with little to lose. It made sense and it worked for her, fleeting acquaintances and backwater towns, nothing to tie her down and nobody waiting up for her.

And then they met, and things started changing, _they_ started changing.

But now she’s the _Marshal –_ someone of respect, authority, and responsibility. She went from brawling in taverns for some extra cash, camping out in the woods, and playing bodyguard with him on Sorgan, to _this._ It seems like the townsfolk are smitten with her too, an imposing figure ready to snap someone in half one second, and the next, a woman with the most beautiful, gentle smile offering a helping hand.

Despite the career change, she’s still Cara, and Din is sure that she can look at him and say the same. In their time apart, they’ve both grown, but at their core the same people who blew up a AT-ST on some skughole, the same people who liberated this city months ago when all odds were against them.

They’re still Cara and Din. They’re still friends, they’re still… something else.

At least, he hopes.

Stepping further into the grey and white colored apartment, he spies a black armory against the back wall, just to the side of the hallway where he assumes leads to the bedrooms, a dark grey armchair situated close to a couch that looks big enough to sleep on with a knitted blanket piled on one end. Something makes Din pause, the cerulean fabric seems so familiar, almost begging him to remember, but the man can’t recall.

He shakes his head to dispel his nagging thoughts, and notices how her small, quaint caf table in front of the couch is in slight disarray, datapads strewn about surrounding the holo projector, and what looks like a mug half filled with tea near the table’s edge.

She always was a little messy, but in a… controlled sort of manner, he thinks.

While Din likes his space and belongings neat and tidy in their place, she’s a bit more haphazard, throwing him off kilter in a way that brings him out of his comfort zone, but only just.

Cara calls out from the kitchen, the kid tucked safe and content in the crook of her elbow, taking in his new environment with huge dark eyes.

“Hey Din, is it alright if I give him some warm milk? He still likes that, right?” she asks.

The Mandalorian joins them, chuckling at the sight of the baby, his little wrinkly face perked with excitement at the mention of warm milk. Tilting his head fondly at the pair, his chest is almost achingly warm, to see the two people he cares for the most in this galaxy so at home with each other.

“Sure,” Din says, nodding at the container in Cara’s hand.

As she’s moving around the kitchen, he watches her gently swaying with the kid and humming that same tune from before, delicate and heartfelt. That feeling in his chest grows, the warmth, but also the yearning, for her, for the kid, for the three of them, _together_. The simple stability and peace that he often dreams about is right in front of him, yet he still hesitates.

He always hesitates.

When Cara sets the little one on the counter, she turns to face him with that teasing smile of hers and an elbow resting comfortably next to the kid. Raising an eyebrow at the armored man, she asks, “So, what about you, big guy? Dinner time? He can hang out here with me while you eat and clean up if you’d like.”

“Yeah, that – that sounds good. If you don’t mind. Thank you,” he agrees.

Leaving the baby to his milk on the counter, she leads Din down the short hallway to the first room on their left. The door opens with a quick swish and he’s greeted to a generous guest bedroom, and as soon as they enter, Cara fiddles with a small panel on the wall, illuminating the space while simultaneously closing the window’s shutters to keep out prying eyes. Watching her move smoothly around the room, shuffling knick knacks and random weapon parts into boxes, it hits him how much he wishes she led him to her room instead, that maybe they could pick up where they left off all those months ago. But they never discussed it, what they were to each other, if what happened on Sorgan was left there to wither and die or if she grew to feel as strongly for him as he does for her.

When he and the baby left Nevarro after Moff Gideon, Din didn’t ask her to leave with them, and Cara didn’t ask to go. After she announced her intentions to stay, it wasn’t his place to ask for her company while he began his mission to search for the Jedi when Cara’s journey was here.

Mitigating circumstances brought them together again, and for that he’s grateful.

With a small huff, Cara straightens, hands on her hips as she surveys the room one last time and nods to herself, satisfied with her quick work. Turning back to her guest, she tells him, “Each room has its own fresher, yours is just there on the left,” tilting her towards the back of the room. “Towels are in the cabinet, and there are some extra toiletries under the sink if you need. Other than that, everything’s pretty self-explanatory. Take all the time you need to clean up and eat. The kid and I will be fine.”

“Thank you, Cara. It means a lot, helping us and letting us stay here while the ship is being repaired. It’s a relief to see a friendly face,” he admits.

Her soft smile makes his heart skip a beat and his stomach flutter. Then in two short hesitant steps she’s standing right in front of him, looking past his visor and seeing straight into his eyes with an accuracy he’s only known her to possess. The moment she puts her hand on his chest, he doesn’t realize he’s stopped breathing. Cara’s eyes gaze down to the emblem forged into the middle of his armor, thumb delicately caressing the indentations in the metal with that same smile.

When Din remembers to breathe again, he carefully covers her hand with his own, and when she looks to him again, he curls his fingers and presses them tighter to his chest plate, above his heart.

If he focuses hard enough, he can pretend that her warmth seeps through the gloves and beskar, strong enough to meet his skin under all their layers where he wants her most.

The minutes go by, how many, they aren’t sure, but Din doesn’t want to forget a second of it. How all of his dreams and memories pale in comparison to simply holding her like this, he doesn’t know. Everything he’s wanted to tell her is on the tip of his tongue, ready to slip past his lips – all his hopes and fears, turmoil and longings.

Just when the Mandalorian is about to confess how much he missed her, how he’d often think of her when he was pensive or overwhelmed - of her hushed laugh or brilliant smirk or the way she would drowsily sigh his name, content and relaxed lying beside him on the wooden floor of a dark barn- a small gurgle from the open doorway catches them by surprise.

Peeking from around the doorframe, the baby cautiously waddles into the room, his empty glass in hand and frothy milk moustache coating the lower half of his face.

Large, round obsidian eyes blink up at the couple curiously, his head tilting to the side ever so slightly in a familiar gesture, then meets Cara’s gaze and wordlessly raises the empty glass toward the woman.

The Marshal bites the corner of her lip to stifle the chuckle at Din’s adorable kid, the boy’s mannerisms growing more and more like his armored father. She wouldn’t be surprised if he starts sighing under his breath in annoyance or begins to casually lean against the walls with his arms crossed.

A small snort manages to escape despite her efforts, before she gives in and laughs behind a fist, then Din just looks at her with his own head tilted to the side in question, broadening her smile.

“What’s so funny, Dune?” he asks, clearly bemused the sudden laughing fit, but enjoying the way his own face cracks into a grin at her odd behavior.

Pursing her lips, Cara’s looks between them, two sets of heads tilting to the right, staring at her with the equivalent of a raised eyebrow.

Giving the Mandalorian’s chest a soft pat, “Don’t worry about it, it’s nothing. Just thought of something funny,” she quips. Stepping around Din, she takes the empty glass from the baby’s outstretched hand before lifting him into one arm, letting him peek over her shoulder at the silver man standing confused in her guest bedroom. “We’ll let you settle in and clean up now. You can fill me in on what kind of trouble you’ve gotten yourselves into when you’re done?”

It’s his turn to snort now, _trouble_ she says, what an understatement, “It’s a plan.”

\----

All of Din’s armor lies carefully on the bed on the other side of the door, and his helmet sits on the bathroom’s countertop, the metal beginning to fog over as the heat of the shower fills the room with steam.

He can’t remember the last time he’d taken a hot shower or even just bathed with water for that matter. The sonic shower on the Crest was enough to clean himself off, it was efficient, low maintenance, and doesn’t require a water reserve. To have something like this on the ship is a luxury he couldn’t afford, but he’d be lying if he wasn’t looking forward to it.

One of the perks to lodging planetside, he muses.

The water’s scorching temperature stings at first, a dull pain and burn that seeps into his skin and slowly morphs into a pleasant ache deep in his bones. It’s a welcome shock to Din’s tense body that leaves him groaning in delight as he immerses himself in the curling heat, finally feeling his muscles relax and unwind from the stress of the last few weeks.

Standing under the heavy spray, he focuses on the sound of millions of droplets splashing against his hot skin, on the floor, and on the walls, letting the white noise clear his overactive thoughts to focus on the moment, the _here_ and _now._ He’s been so preoccupied worrying about everyone and everything else - the kid, the ship, credits, the never-ending slew of new clients, partners, enemies, and friends - that he hasn’t had a quiet moment to himself. Lifting his face to the showerhead, Din breathes in the steam, inhaling through the nose and exhaling through the mouth in sluggish, measured movements.

\----

With the damp towel still draped over his shoulders, Din slurps the remnants of his dinner, the warm bone broth soothing his throat and the last of his hunger with one loud gulp. Setting the empty container alongside the rest of his finished meal, he leans back in the chair and stretches his arms above his head, hearing a satisfying pop from his shoulder and the Mandalorian sighs happily.

The amazing things a hot shower and warm meal can do.

He’s lucky, really, to have friends that welcomed him back with open arms, offering refuge and a helping hand. Since the Covert is gone, Cara and Greef are the only people he can rely on now. While this place doesn’t hold the best of memories for any of them, he’s proud that his friends have been able to turn the city into something better for everyone. Instead of the smoking ruins and rubble he left behind all those months ago, it’s teeming with life, thriving even, rebuilding itself into a respectable city. To have that kind of stability and reassurance, of a safe place to return to again, it’s bittersweet to say the least.

Gently shaking his head, Din runs the towel through his damp locks one last time before replacing it in the bathroom and places his litter in a bag to dispose of later. It’s been over an hour now, and while he’s enjoyed the time to himself, he needs to get back to Cara and the kid. In a few short steps he’s standing at the foot the bed, dressed in his flight pants and long-sleeved undershirt, armor laid before him. Taking the top half of his suit, the Mandalorian runs his thumbs over some of the fraying seams, the suit having been worn thin over time. Not damaged beyond repair, but in need of mending, restitching in certain places, patches in others.

He isn’t sure how long he stood there, armor and suit in hand, but making no move to don them. With a shaky breath, Din delicately replaces them on the mattress and grabs his helmet from the table. Before he can change his mind, he slides the metal over his head and he’s a bit more like himself again.

\----

Emerging from the spare bedroom, Din stops in his tracks at the sight of the dozing baby snuggling into Cara’s neck while she rubs his back in soothing circles and quietly hums that same tune from earlier, now a soft lullaby for the green child and nearly a siren’s song to his father.

Din stands in the doorway watching them, or rather, watching _her._

He notices that she’s changed clothes as well, her armor and gear swapped for soft shorts and a sleeveless shirt, revealing the most amount of bare skin he’s seen in the longest time that it leaves his mouth hanging and his throat dry. His fingers twitch at the memories of his hands skimming up her thick, powerful thighs to grip her in the dark, and he has to swallow down the intense flare of arousal in order to calm himself.

The things this woman does to him.

Her gaze flicks between the fussing baby on her chest and the blue and red projection in front of her. When the kid winds down, her critical eyes scan the holo, studying what looks to be a building embedded in a rocky wall, certain areas highlighted in red with various routes plotted throughout the structure. For what, the Mandalorian doesn’t know, but by the way she splits her focus between the child and the images, he surmises it’s important.

Early on during Sorgan, there were only a handful of times when Cara would hold this mysterious child, preferring to let the boy find comfort in Din or one of the villagers who’d happily dote on the creature. It took time for her to warm up to him, but like almost everyone else he meets, they can’t help but be drawn in. Their bond grew the longer the three shared company in the barn, and like Din, the little one soon found a friend and protector in her too.

If they hadn’t been interrupted earlier, would he have been able to stop himself from telling her everything he’s feels? Been feeling since he left her here on Nevarro? Doubtful. Whenever he’s around her, he simultaneously can’t keep his mouth shut and is at a loss for words. While Din is sure she’d find it hilarious and tease him mercilessly for it, to him, it’s both liberating and frustrating.

Cara finally sees him skulking in the hallway, her face deadpan as she rolls her eyes as he walks toward the couch.

Huffing at him, “How long have you been standing there like a creep, Din?”

“Just a few minutes, lost my head for a while. I didn’t realize I was in there for so long, I’m sorry,” he apologizes, taking a seat next to the ex-trooper, Din carefully peeks around her shoulder to check on the snoozing toddler. “When did he fall asleep?”

“Maybe ten or fifteen minutes ago, give or take. After that second glass of milk and a cookie, he was out like a light,” she whispers, adjusting him so that he’s lying in the crook of her elbow and cradling him in her arms.

Scoffing at her, Din teases, “More milk and cookies? We’ve only been here a few hours, and you’re already spoiling him, Cara.”

Shifting in his seat, he leans closer to the pair, carefully placing a hand on the boy’s chest, thumb gently moving back and forth in time with every shallow snore.

Turning to Din, she feels the love and adoration he has for the kid and playfully nudges him with her shoulder, “If milk and cookies is spoiling him, I bet he has you wrapped around his tiny claw.”

“You’d be surprised. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve told him ‘No’. But it’s not like he actually listens to me or anything,” murmuring more to himself than to her.

She can’t help but laugh at how vexed he sounds, having to discipline a fifty-year-old toddler small enough to fit in a bag, but powerful enough to kill a stormtrooper with his mind. They’re an odd pair, that’s for sure, but they make it work.

Before she can stop herself, Cara’s quaking shoulders accidentally rouse the baby with a short whine, his eyes blinking sleepily at her in confusion.

“Oh, shit. Sorry, kid…” she whispers with a cringe, trying in vain to rock him back to sleep.

Luckily, his blurry gaze lands on Din, and the baby reaches out, tiny arms stretching towards the silver helmet seeking solace. With a hushed chuckle, Din takes a hold of him, and the stirring creature immediately calms when cradled in Din’s arms.

“It’s alright, pal. You just go back to sleep. I’ve got you.” Nodding towards the guestroom, Din rises to his feet and tells Cara, “Give me a minute? I’ll tuck him in and be right back.”

Seeing Din take care of the kid is always something else, even now as she quietly trails behind them to lean in the doorway of the dim guestroom. The dropper notices how much more their relationship has grown during their travels. She’s always known, hell, anyone who takes one glance at them can see that Din would do anything to keep the boy safe. At the start of their stay on Sorgan, he took on the role of protector and parent almost reluctantly, simultaneously keeping the baby physically close, but at an emotional distance. But the longer they stayed, the more he was willing to open himself up and let the kid in.

The Armorer had called them ‘a Clan of Two’ and it seems Din has taken that statement to heart. From the looks of it, that battle hardened warrior needs that baby just as much as it needs him.

Watching a man who’s killed with his bare hands in the blink of an eye use them now to lovingly wrap his son in a blanket and tuck him into bed with gentle caresses almost feels like an intrusion of their privacy, and she wonders if this is what they do every night.

That day, the Armorer also told Din that he needs to reunite him with the Jedi, and Cara pushes off the wall, walking to the kitchen and grabbing a glass of spotchka, trying not to think of what would happen to them if they parted ways.

Settling back on the couch, she curls her feet under her, taking tiny sips.

She tries not to think of how much she’d miss the kid, too.

With a frown, Cara turns back to the blue and red holo, rubbing her forehead to push the thoughts aside and focus on the task before her.

From what knowledge they have on the base so far, it’s minimally staffed, but well equipped. While she can easily take down a group of wannabe black market scavengers hiding out in the sewers, this is beyond her capabilities, at least solo. If she leads a good strike team of four or five, they’d have a chance. Taking into account the possibility that there could be more people populating the base than her sources say, once they blow the reactor, their numbers shouldn’t be an issue. The biggest problem is finding a route to the reactor and getting the hell out undetected or with the least amount of gunfire possible.

Oh, and finding eyes sharp enough she can trust to watch her six.

Glancing back at the open doorway, her gaze lingers on the dark silhouette on the bed but shakes her head instead and opens the list of available Guild Hunters Greef sent. Some she’s met, and a few she’s worked with – all good shots willing to put in the effort for the right price. While not her favorite method to assemble a team, hired hands are better than no hands, and if it means better odds of accomplishing the mission, then so be it. While she hasn’t been Marshal long, it’s times like these where she wishes she had a partner or Deputy, but out here in the Outer Rim, you work with what you’ve got.

She’s been so engrossed in her work that the woman doesn’t realize her guest has rejoined her. Just as Cara begins reading the profile on a decent Zabrak hunter, the couch dips under Din’s weight as he makes himself comfortable next to her, not quite touching her, but close enough that she can feel his radiating warmth.

Taking another sip of the blue liquid, she faces him and asks, “Hey. That took a while, is he ok?”

Din lets out a long exhale, slumping further into the couch, “Yeah, he’s fine. Sometimes he has trouble staying asleep in new environments, and if I’m not there when he wakes up, he panics. But he’s settled down for the long haul. And earlier when you were holding him, you didn’t do anything wrong, the kid likes you, but he’s just picky sometimes,” he shrugs.

“No offense taken; I get it,” she laughs, “Kind of like when he’d fuss during the middle of night in the barn and you’d have to rock him back to sleep after we’d… y’know.”

The teasing smirk stretching across her face warms his cheeks beneath the helmet, not of embarrassment, but of all times he remembers swallowing her moans to keep from waking the kid.

Half the time he succeeded, the other half… not so much.

Knowing the effect she’ll have on him if they continue, he swiftly changes the subject, steering the conversation towards more neutral ground.

Shifting in his seat, Din clears his throat and juts his chin to the holo, “What are you working on?”

Cara raises an eyebrow at him, but follows along, despite their history she doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable. So, the Marshal turns to the holo, zooms out on the structure embedded in the rocky canyon wall, giving him a bird’s eye view of her mission objective.

“This is a base not too far from the city, far enough that they don’t pose an immediate threat, but close enough to be a big problem if they wanted to be. Sources say that the old base is filled with heavy weaponry, and we know the black market’s been sniffing around since we rid the town of the Imperials…”

“And if they get their hands on those weapons, that’s a problem,” he finishes.

Nodding, “Exactly. Since we defeated Moff Gideon, this entire sector of the planet -” zooming out further, Cara highlights the city and large portion of the area, “-is a safe zone. This red spot here, is the base. If we can get rid of it, we can have complete control of the area. Once that happens, fingers crossed, the planet will be safe enough to establish as a trade anchor for the system.”

“I see. When is this mission taking place?”

“Hopefully sooner rather than later. I’m still gathering intel and putting a group together, but not for a few days at the least.”

“With you leading the charge, it should be quick work.”

Cara turns at that, a genuine smile of thanks on her lips. A simple bow of his helmet, and it tells her all she needs to know about his confidence in her abilities.

She’d be lying if she said she didn’t miss him this way, as someone she could talk to all day and night, about missions and battle tactics, anything and everything.

Her closest friend.

What he says next though, catches her off guard.

“I’m – proud of you, Cara. What you and Greef have done since I left. It’s – it’s good. You’ve helped a lot of people, made this town safe. You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished in such a short amount of time. I hope that you are.”

It’s not the sincerity in his voice that gets to her, but the words themselves. She’s done a lot in her life that she isn’t proud of, but this place gave her the opportunity to become somebody she could be.

All because a silver man and his green baby offered her a bowl of soup.

“I am. Proud of this city, I mean, and I guess I have you and the kid to thank for it.”

Gulping down the last of the spotchka, she leans back and watches his reaction.

His silence speaks volumes, and she can imagine his furrowed brow as he tries to make sense of her statement. But all she receives is a slight angle of his helmet.

Chuckling, she deactivates the holo projector, and faces him fully.

“Let me explain, big guy,” she starts. “When you met me, I wasn’t interested in the bigger picture anymore. My career was protecting delegates, suppressing riots, and the uh – not so great stuff, the kind of stuff you can never wash your hands of – but I joined the Rebellion to fight for the freedom my people never got to see, so that nobody else would have to watch the Empire destroy their home like they did mine. But what I signed up for and what I did were two different things, and it didn’t take long for the illusion to fade.”

Staring at the empty glass in her hands, she runs a finger along the rim, sorting out her thoughts.

“I’ve done things I’m not proud of Din, every soldier has, but instead of marching on, I left. An operation went sideways in the worst way, and I couldn’t take it. I snuck onto a freighter with refugees and was on the run, did what I needed to do in order to survive. Eventually got a bounty puck with my name on it and everything,” she laments. “Anyways, after planet hopping for a few years, I ended up on Sorgan, and run into a guy looking for the same thing, a place to disappear to, at least for a little while. And this guy, he has a kid, cute little thing, adorable really, something he gets from his dad, I’m sure.”

They share a heartfelt laugh, and before she knows it, Cara’s reaching out, and when Din’s hand slides into hers, their fingers are curling around each other’s appreciatively.

“So this guy, while we’re all hiding out on this backwater skughole, he becomes my friend, and then he becomes… something more… But eventually we have to go our separate ways, he had things he needed to do, and I was still wanted to disappear. The days at the tavern blended together, the people all started to look the same, things were quiet, boring even, and it seemed like an early retirement for me. Then he shows up again with his kid, out of the blue, asking for my help to take down an Imperial so the kid would be safe… would be free of the Empire… and it was like the strike of a match.”

Saying all of this aloud to him sounds so different than how it all played out in her head and judging by how his grip tightened just a fraction, he wasn’t expecting to hear this just as much as she wasn’t expecting to confess it all.

But she started her story, she might as well finish it.

“Despite the odds, despite losing some people along the way, we managed to defeat the Imperials. We freed the town of their occupation, the kid was safe, and – and it felt good. To do something _good_ again. Not for money, or fame, but because it was the right thing to do. _That_ was what I was missing.

After we took out the Moff, he and the kid had to leave again, their new mission calling them elsewhere, and I almost went with them.”

Din’s entire body tenses at her statement, but he remains silent.

She remembers the shock in his voice when she announced her intentions to stay on Nevarro, and now he knows a part of her wanted to go with them that day. The things that must be going through his mind right now…

“But I didn’t, as much as I wanted to, and dammit I _wanted to_ … but I had to stay. The fire in me was burning strong, and I couldn’t let it go out again. Cleaning up the city wasn’t easy. The people were afraid, nobody cared about what happened to the ones who couldn’t defend themselves, so I did. This place is respectable now, it’s safe, and I’ll be damned if I don’t do my best to keep it that way… Like I said, I have you and the little guy to thank for that.”

The Mandalorian is frozen in his seat, unsure of how to respond to such a jarring revelation. To think that he and the kid were partly the reason she stepped up to take on the responsibility of Marshal, it’s shocking to realize they had such an effect on her. But he sees it so clearly now, and he’s that much prouder to see what she’s become. While they might have been the initial catalyst, she took it upon herself to do what no one else would do.

He sometimes wondered what would’ve happened between them if he had the courage to ask her that day, to come along with him and the baby, if they would’ve stayed together or would eventually part ways again, her journey taking her down a different path.

Now he knows what happened was for the best.

Turning her hand in his, Din carefully runs a finger back and forth over the creases in her palm. His tone contemplative, but no less genuine in his sentiment.

If there’s anything she knows about Din Djarin, it’s that if he says something, he means it.

“I never thought we’d have such an effect on you. I don’t think I could’ve predicted anything that’s happened since we met, but Cara, I want you to know that I’m glad we did.”

The smile that lights Cara’s face is so bright and beautiful that Din’s chest aches, wishing he could see it every day, see the dimples in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. He wants to give her a reason to smile so brilliantly, give her the happiness she deserves.

Lifting their hands, Cara holds Din’s to the side of her face, closing her eyes with a deep inhale to focus on the sensation of his thumb gently caressing her cheek. His tender touch filling her with a pleasant warmth and fondness she’s sorely missed.

Turning her head, the ex-dropper delicately presses her lips to his wrist, feeling his strong rhythmic pulse against her skin.

“Cara,” he breathes.

Then it’s as if time slows, almost coming to a standstill and all he knows is _her_.

His other hand finds its way to Cara’s waist, molding to her curves, and feeling the heat of her skin radiate through the thin shirt. Din’s eyes slowly drift shut as he leans forward, and the moment his beskar meets Cara’s forehead with a soft pressure, Din hears a weak gasp, his or hers, he isn’t sure. Then a hand curls at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, and the Mandalorian’s lips stretch into a grin so wide his cheeks ache and his stomach flutters. When he builds the strength to finally open his eyes, Din discovers the same smile reflecting on her face.

His laugh is so soft when he admits to her, “I was worried you didn’t feel the same, that maybe you’d moved on. After all this time apart… I – I didn’t know.” Circling his arms around her, “I missed you, Cara,” burying his helmet into her hair, Din whispers, “I missed you…”

Relaxing in his embrace, she squeezes back and rests her head in the crook of his neck, breathing in his comforting scent. “I’ve thought about you a lot, too. You’re a difficult man to forget, Din.”

\----

Lying together on the couch, the couple savors their newfound relationship, enjoying the simple intimacy they craved during some of the lonelier nights apart. Her head is pillowed on his chest while she’s half tucked between Din and back of the couch, half draped over him with an arm around his waist. While the nights on Nevarro aren’t cold, per se, there’s been an unusual chill in the air, and Din covers them both with the blue knitted blanket he saw folded over the cushions earlier. The sofa is by no means wide enough to fit two adults side by side, but they’ve been in tighter spaces together, and it gives Din an excuse to hold Cara as close as he can, wrapping an arm around her shoulders with the other resting on the curve of her hip.

Cara adjusts herself, shifting to find a better position and places a chaste kiss to his shoulder before laying her cheek in the same spot.

He hums his contentment and pulls the blanket more securely over her back, “Are you comfortable? Warm enough?”

Nodding, “I’m ok. Thank you. When it’s a cold night like this I usually sleep here on the couch anyways. You and the blanket are plenty,” she murmurs.

“Why here?” he asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

When she doesn’t respond, he wonders if she’s fallen asleep on him, and he cranes his neck to discover that she’s looking at the opposite wall, face scrunched in mild annoyance. If he wasn’t so interested, he’d admit to her that she looks the tiniest bit adorable like this.

“Cara? Did I say something wrong?”

Shaking her head in the negative, “No, no. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just… the reason why I sleep here when it’s cold. When I try to say it out loud, it sounds stupid is all.”

“Stupid? Why? What’s the reason?”

Groaning into his chest, she chuckles softly before responding, “I’d wrap myself up in the blanket and sleep with my back against the back cushions and pretend it’s you. I don’t know why, but the colder nights are when I’d miss you the most.”

Din’s jaw hangs open beneath the helmet, unseen to the woman using his shoulder as a pillow, and he honestly doesn’t know how to respond to that. They just confessed how much they missed each other, that they still feel the same, maybe even more than when they parted ways all those months ago. It’s both so easy and so difficult to express his feelings for her, sometimes nearly impossible to put all the thoughts running through his mind into understandable words, but when they’re together like this, it’s as easy as breathing. So, it still throws the Mandalorian for a loop when he hears how deeply she cares for him.

Then the puzzle pieces align in his frazzled mind, and now he remembers why this knitted blue fabric seemed so familiar earlier.

Even though he’s sure of her answer, Din can’t help how timid his voice sounds, wavering in confidence and strength, “Is – is this my blanket? The one I gave you on Sorgan when the kid and I left?”

“It is…” she replies.

Her answer hangs in the air, creating a poignant stillness, and Din can sense the slight tension in Cara’s shoulders as he sorts through his thoughts.

Relaxing his chest, he carefully lifts his helmet up, just enough to expose his mouth to the air. Din tightens the arm encircling her and angles his neck to place a long kiss to the top of Cara’s head.

He takes in her scent for the first time that night with a deep inhale, unobstructed by the metal covering his face, and it hammers his feelings for this woman even stronger into his bones.

“It’s not stupid,” Din quietly breathes into her hair. Firm yet calm, returning the trust she gave to share her secret with the reassurance she needs, that they _both_ need, to know their vulnerabilities are not to be feared or ashamed of.

Not between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt this was a sort of natural progression we were denied during the episode, so I enjoyed the hell out of writing it!
> 
> Also, after thinking about it, I've decided to continue the story past the end of the episode (s2ep4, 'The Siege') and take this all the way through to the end of the season and maybe a little after. We have plenty of time to kill before s3 airs so... 😅
> 
> A big THANK YOU to everyone who's commented and given words of encouragement and support while I work through my deep seated depression! It's an uphill battle, like many of you probably know, but it feels good to have a small respite from the dull blob of mehh and nothingness. Finger crossed I can hold onto this feeling.
> 
> Anyways, this chapter didn't go exactly as I had planned when I finished ch1, and I had to break it somewhere because it was getting too long for comfort, but I think this was a good stopping point. What I had hoped would be angst turned into more feels than I thought, so the angst (and smut 😁) will have to be next time.
> 
> If you enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment! They genuinely brighten my day to know someone likes my work, and it keeps me motivated to write more! Thank you! ❤️
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr!](https://flipredmonkey.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> At first this was supposed to be a one shot, but because I do so well with those, I decided to make it two chapters, but then I got to the end lines, and figured that was a good place for a break, so now I think this'll be three chapters. 😂😂😂
> 
> Haven't written something with an actual plot and characterization in a long while, so I'm not at my best, but bear with me!
> 
> My plan is that this is only going to cover the time span of the episode, hence the title (don't say I didn't warn you).
> 
> Things are going to get heavy with the angst next chapter, I'm so excited!
> 
> If you enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment! They genuinely brighten my day to know someone likes my work, and it keeps me motivated to write more! Thank you! ❤️
> 
> Come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://flipredmonkey.tumblr.com)!


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